Berrada spent the entire night in the paraffin wax bath. When he finally stepped out of the tub, his injuries were almost entirely healed. He stared at his reflection in amazement; Shiranui Hayate possessed something truly miraculous. Even his "brother" had been restored.
He knew just how close that damned Malinois had come to tearing it off completely. The regenerative power of the wax bath was nothing short of monstrous. For someone in their line of work, such a tool was beyond powerful.
If I had a recovery room like this in my hotel, Berrada thought, every assassin on the planet would be clamoring to check in. The business would be explosive. After all, no matter how good your ballistic weave is, no one can guarantee they won't get hurt.
Thinking back to yesterday's ordeal, Berrada shuddered. He gritted his teeth and hissed, "Sofia!"
After dressing, he walked into the lounge to find Hayate waiting. Berrada's face immediately broke into a warm, enthusiastic smile. He threw his arms wide for a hug.
"Thank you, Hayate. You saved my life."
While Hayate hadn't technically saved him from death, the help was, in Berrada's eyes, even greater. For a man in his position, losing his dignity in that specific way was often harder to accept than losing his life.
After a brief embrace, Berrada spoke seriously. "I owe you a debt. Tell me, Hayate, what do you need? Or... would you prefer one of my Markers?"
A Marker from a common assassin was one thing; a blood oath from the manager of a Continental was a different currency entirely.
Hayate smiled, not one to turn down such a high-value asset. "Since you're being so sincere, I'll take the Marker."
Without a moment's hesitation, Berrada went to his bedroom, retrieved a blank medallion from a drawer, and returned. He pricked his finger, pressing his bloody thumbprint into the silver. He handed the completed Marker to Hayate.
Hayate accepted it casually, slipping it into his pocket.
"Hayate," Berrada started, his eyes gleaming with business intent. "Is there any chance we could collaborate on this 'wax bath'? It's a goldmine."
Hayate knew the man was hooked, but he shook his head. "The timing isn't right, Berrada. We're a long way from discussing franchises."
Seeing it wasn't a hard "no," Berrada felt encouraged. "I'll wait for your good news then. I've already got ideas for the pricing—maybe a mix of USD and Gold Coins? Or perhaps an exclusive coin-only membership?"
Watching Berrada already calculating the overhead, Hayate chuckled. "We'll talk later. Since you're back on your feet, I'll be taking my leave."
On the edge of the desert, Sofia pulled her SUV to a stop. She opened the trunk, took out a dog bowl, and poured a large bottle of mineral water into it.
"Drink," she told her two Malinois.
John Wick stepped out of the car, reaching into his pocket for the Marker. Before he could speak, Sofia looked up at him.
"You're going to die, John. Maybe in this desert, maybe somewhere else soon after." She paused, her gaze certain. "But you are a dead man walking."
John remained silent. He took a deep breath, opened the Marker, and pricked his finger to press his print onto the opposite side, finalizing the debt. He handed it to her.
"Consequences," he said.
Sofia took the medallion. "Consequences."
She held up a small bottle containing the last bit of water. John reached for it, but she pulled it back, downing the water herself right in front of him.
John looked away, sighing. However, Sofia didn't swallow. She swished the water around her mouth with spiteful intensity and spat it all back into the bottle. She thrust the bottle toward him.
"Get going."
Knowing the brutal reality of the desert, John didn't let pride get in the way. He took the bottle. It was barely a mouthful.
"Sofia," he said, calling her name one last time. There was no further need for words. He turned and began his walk into the shifting sands.
Casablanca Continental.
Hayate and his team approached the front desk to check out. Once clear of the hotel, they headed straight for the desert outskirts.
As they reached the edge of the endless dunes, Hotaru looked at the horizon. "Boss, it's easy to get lost out here. Which way are we heading?"
Hayate didn't answer immediately. He looked at Iruka. "Iruka, the shirt."
Iruka reached into a bag and produced the blood-stained garment John had discarded. Hayate bit his thumb, his hands moving through a rapid sequence of signs.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
Poof!
A cloud of white smoke erupted, and a small pug wearing a blue vest appeared.
Iruka, Sasuke, and Lee didn't blink—they were all familiar with the technique. But Hotaru's jaw dropped. She had seen Hayate do a lot of things, but summoning a talking animal out of thin air was a new level of "impossible."
The pug, Pakkun, looked around at the environment and then at Hayate. "Lord Hayate, what do you need me to track?"
Hotaru pointed a trembling finger at the dog, her voice rising an octave. "The dog... the dog just spoke! It actually talked!"